The who was
inside you.
I want to discover,
a foam-born deity,
killing the moon.
You destroyed
me in the poems.
I cannot weave the
moonlight on the
jessamines.
Can you send
a message to Mars?
It is too crowded on
the earth. There was
no room for the muse.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: April 10th, 2022 19:55
- Category: Nature
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments1
there's, room enough to blossom
these poetic words..
unease, in our minds
makes us feel crowded, while alone
in our own bedrooms..
sometimes, we just have
to accept, try
to strive for better
and let that be enough..
thanks for sharing, Guru
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